The Heiress Spoiled by Four Brothers and One Devilish CEO-Chapter 126 The Face Beneath the Mask

Looking into those mesmerizing fox-like eyes, Tristan gently pinched Megan’s chin as he pressed a long, lingering kiss on her lips.

Just then came a knock at the door.

Tristan chuckled and stood up, walked over to the curtain and tugged at a fine hidden chain—causing the hanging painting to slip back into place.

After taking his seat and switching off the voice transmitter, he said, "Come in."

A waiter rolled in a food cart, gracefully placing the dishes on the table before backing out.

Tristan picked up a piece of saucy rib and placed it into her bowl. "Any idea who owns Sky Lounge?"

"I heard it’s that food industry tycoon, Johnson Foreman," Megan replied, savoring the rich flavor of the meat.

"On paper, yeah. But behind the scenes, it’s actually me."

Megan nearly choked on her bite. "Wait—what? Who did I marry, seriously?"

"Hm?" Tristan’s sharp eyes narrowed as they locked on her.

She faked an innocent smile. "I mean someone crazy impressive?"

He gently wiped the sauce off the corner of her lips with a smirk. "That mouth of yours should stick to eating, not talking."

His lips inched closer to hers, but before they could land, she blocked them with her hand.

"I’m starving," she said with a cheeky smile.

Tristan didn’t tease her anymore, eating slowly while watching her devour her food like she hadn’t eaten in days.

With puffed cheeks, Megan mumbled, "Tell me the story behind this room. How come they’re right next door?"

Knowing her curiosity would get the better of her, Tristan put down his fork and started explaining.

"Sky Lounge is where all the big shots in the capital come. The setting’s cozy and the food’s top notch—it ticks all their boxes. This private room? It’s reserved for me. Its unique design lets me pick up on business secrets more easily. Whenever someone important books a room, Cameron gets the heads-up and places them in Room 507."

Megan’s eyes lit up. "So you brought me here on purpose tonight?"

Tristan ruffled her hair, eyes full of warmth. "Mainly to let you taste the food. Like it?"

"It’s amazing," she nodded like crazy. "But hey, what do you think Cloud Robinson put in their food?"

Tristan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a deep look flashing across them. "The Robinson, Bennette and Channing families teamed up to win Wanlong. Robinson threw in 30 billion, while the other two only put in 10 billion each. That kind of imbalance? He’s bound to find ways to tip the scale. Later rounds of funding will need even more. If Bennette and Channing play games with each other, Robinson’s left scrambling. The bigger the investment, the more he risks losing control."

Megan rolled her eyes thoughtfully. "So he’s gotta keep them in check to stay in charge. And he used poison to pressure them? That’s... dark."

She tilted her head, pretending to be clueless, eyes wide in mock astonishment.

Tristan gave a faint nod, silently amused. She totally figured it out already but still threw the question at him like she hadn’t.

Cute as ever.

At that moment, the phone on the table buzzed.Tristan glanced at his phone, got up, and walked to the window. With a flick of his fingers, he parted the curtain just slightly and said lazily, "Talk."

"Boss, after the bidding ended, Cloud Robinson left Empire Tower, circled around a few blocks, switched between multiple cars, and ended up at Siren’s Call Nightclub. An hour later, he left with three hostesses. All surrounding surveillance—as well as inside the club—is conveniently down."

The colorful neon outside didn’t distract him. Instead, he turned his head and eyed the curious little lady who was clearly eavesdropping despite pretending not to. "He’s doing way too much. Definitely fishy. Tell the club owner to wait for me. Also, keep eyes on that place."

He hung up and walked back to sit next to Megan. "Sweetheart, I’ve got something to handle. Let me get you back to the manor first."

"I’ll come with you."

Tristan shook his head slightly. "Those three girls he left with were from Siren’s Call, but he stayed way too long. Surveillance is out—they’re trying to hide something. I’m going to talk to the owner myself. What’s been happening lately? It’s all aimed at the Reid and Lewis families. I can’t take any risks where you’re concerned."

Megan pouted, "Fine, I get it. I’ll be good and go home."

Tristan picked up a napkin and wiped the corner of her lips, then took her hand and led her out.

After seeing her safely back to Dreamscape Manor, Tristan hit the road to Siren’s Call Nightclub.

Meanwhile, booze and indulgence filled room 507 of Sky Lounge.

Cloud Robinson laid down two keycards in front of Isaac and Jameson.

The three exchanged knowing looks—grown-ups know what follows.

Unable to resist the temptations sitting beside them, Isaac and Jameson made their excuses and headed straight to a hotel under Sean’s name.

Inside, the unspeakable quickly unfolded—and every second of it was captured on Cloud’s laptop screen. His expression remained cold as ice.

A woman draped herself against him, arms around his neck, and suddenly felt something odd behind his ear.

Curious, she reached for it, only to have her wrist crushed tightly by a large hand.

She looked up in panic at the man, his gaze cruel and shadowed. Her voice trembled, "Mr. Robinson, I—I didn’t mean to, I didn’t see anything."

"Oh really?" He let out a low chuckle, then yanked her hair and tossed her onto the bed.

She backed away in terror, eyes locked onto the image of him picking up a pillow.

"No, please—I swear I didn’t see anything! Please don’t kill me! Please—!"

Ten minutes later, the once-pristine pillow was tossed aside.

The woman now lay motionless, lips purple, eyes wide and bloodshot, pupils dilated.

Cloud walked into the bathroom to wash his hands. In the mirror, part of the fake skin on his face had been scratched off.

Seething, he ripped the whole thing away—revealing the face of Wyatt.

Splashing cold water on his real face, he stared at the reflection only he dared look at in the dark. Hatred slowly surged through him.

Clenching a fist, he slammed it into the mirror. The glass shattered; his reflection was now a grotesque mess. Blood trickled from the cuts on his knuckles, dripping into the sink.

He hated them. Damn Tristan and Megan. If not for them, he wouldn’t be living like this—forced to wear a fake face every day, pretending to be someone he’s not, neither dead nor truly alive.

Taking a deep breath, he cursed under his breath and stepped out of the bathroom. Sitting on the bed, he lit a cigarette.

Smoke curled into the air as a trail of ash fell to the floor.

He crushed the butt with his fingers, picked up his phone, and dialed. "Jimmy, I killed someone."